


Deserved

by cathcer1984



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Panic Attacks, Stiles Stilinski is Eighteen Years Old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21602224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathcer1984/pseuds/cathcer1984
Summary: "Did you tell him you love him?"Stiles glances at Scott, his best friend is slightly blurry through the haze of Stiles' tears. "He knows," Stiles rasps.A warm hand rests on Stiles' back between his shoulder blades. Scott sighs heavily. "Not what I asked," Scott says gently."Everyone knows." Stiles wipes his nose with the back of his hand. The other hand is clutching the neck of a whiskey bottle. He's had one sip so far, so desperate to get drunk and forgethimand also terrified of what his drunk-self would do."He deserves to hear it from you, Stiles."*Or the one where Stiles confesses his love.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 5
Kudos: 526





	Deserved

**Author's Note:**

> Based of a tumblr Sterek post. I know, I Steter-ed it.

"Did you tell him you love him?" 

Stiles glances at Scott, his best friend is slightly blurry through the haze of Stiles' tears. "He knows," Stiles rasps. 

A warm hand rests on Stiles' back between his shoulder blades. Scott sighs heavily. "Not what I asked," Scott says gently. 

"Everyone knows." Stiles wipes his nose with the back of his hand. The other hand is clutching the neck of a whiskey bottle. He's had one sip so far, so desperate to get drunk and forget _him_ and also terrified of what his drunk-self would do. 

"He deserves to hear it from you, Stiles." Scott is rubbing his hand up and down Stiles' back. "Peter risked his life to save you from the Wild Hunt. He's leaving tomorrow and so are you. Tell him, Stiles. What's the worst that could happen?"

Stiles lets out a harsh, bitter laugh. "He could shut the door in my face and laugh all the way to wherever the fuck he's going." 

Scott hums thoughtfully. "Yes, he could. He won't, not to you." Something in his tone makes Stiles look at him after rapidly blinking his eyes clear. 

"What do you know?" 

"Nothing." Scott says quickly, holding his hands up. "It's just, you leave for Columbia in the morning. You'll kick yourself for never asking, not knowing what his answer is. You tell him that you love him, he deserves to hear it from you, at least once. And you'll have your answer." 

Stiles sniffs. 

Scott grips his shoulder. "One way or another you'll know. If he laughs in your face, who care you're leaving tomorrow and you can move on with someone else. But, if Peter says yes..." Scott doesn't need to fill in the rest. Stiles knows if _he_ says yes, it'll be magnificent. 

Taking another swig of whiskey Stiles gasps at the burn, then he stands shoving the bottle into Scott's chest. "Okay. I'm going to do it. Right now." Stiles squares his shoulders. "I've faced down a kanima, a fox demon and Gerard Argent. I can totally face Peter Hale."

"Yeah buddy!" Scott cheers. He sips the whiskey and coughs. Stiles laughs a little. 

"Give me a push." Stiles demands.

Scott, bless him, frowns. "I thought I had." 

Rolling his eyes so hard his entire head moves, Stiles snarks "no literally. Push me out the door." 

Scott shoves him in the back, it sends Stiles lurching forward and he barely keeps his feet before he embraces the momentum and runs towards his front door. "Lock up before you leave Scotty." Stiles shouts over his shoulder. He hears Scott reply but Stiles knows his Alpha, his best friend will wait until the Sheriff gets home just in case. Stiles will have support if he needs it. Scott's grown into a good Alpha and friend. 

Running, Stiles gets into his jeep and starts the engine as he drives the doubt comes flooding in. What if he's laughed at? What if Peter lets him down kindly? What if he's rejected? So many 'what ifs' that Stiles feels a panic attack coming on. He tries to count his fingers, but he can't let go of the steering wheel. Stiles pulls over to the side of the road. "Oh god. Oh god. Oh god." Stiles repeats to himself as he sucks in lungfuls of air that aren't enough. He counts his ten fingers. 

"One. Two. Three. Four. Oh my god." Stiles shakes himself. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five, six, seven. EightNineTen." Too fast, he needs to slow down, take his time, Stiles is losing control and he can't focus. The anxiety is too much, he forces himself to start again. Stiles curls his hands into fists, thrusts out his index finger, "one." Middle finger comes up, "two." Ring finger joins the other two, "three," his little finger comes out, "four" and then his thumb, "five." Repeat with the other hand, "six. Seven. Eight. nine. Ten." 

Again. 

"One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten." 

Again. 

"One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten." 

Finally Stiles is calm. Calmer than before, at least, he's breathing easier. Stiles starts the jeep and does a u-turn back towards his house. 

He turns around again, recklessly in the middle of the road. Stiles is so lucky it's late enough that the roads are mostly empty. Stiles recites the periodic table, Shakespeare's Sonnet 18 and his twelve times tables. It keeps his mind occupied and soon enough he's pulling into, what he thinks of as his, parking space outside the pretentious apartment building. 

Stiles goes in and the doorman waves at him. As he's going up in the elevator Stiles thinks on how he's been here so often in the last year, since the Wild Hunt, that the doorman knows him well enough to know who he's going to see. The elevator doors open and for a second Stiles can't breathe, can't move. It's not until they start to close that he rushes out. 

The door to apartment 17 is opening, like it usually does as Stiles gets off the elevator, only this time instead of filling him with warmth Stiles is overrun with doubt. 

"Stiles? Are you alright?" 

"No." Stiles says honestly. 

"Why don't you come in?" Peter steps back, giving Stiles room to enter. Stiles glances at him and can't look away, Peter is watching him with a concerned expression, his blue eyes piercing into Stiles'. 

Shaking his head, Stiles sucks in a deep breath. "I have something to say and if I come in, I won't be able to leave easily." Stiles hates the way Peter's face shuts down. It's minute, the movements, his expression hardly changes but the concern Stiles could easily read is gone, hidden behind an impassive mask. "I- not like that. Fuck. I'm not doing this right. I had a fucking panic attack on the way over here." Stiles runs a hand through his hair and groans in frustration. " _Fuck._ I- Peter. Oh god. I'm leaving tomorrow and you are too. So I wanted say this, because it's not going to matter." Stiles eyes Peter, he's just standing there letting Stiles rant at him. But Stiles can see Peter's confusion. He's confused himself, he's not entirely sure what the fuck he's actually saying. "Oh god. That's not right, it does matter. It matters so fucking much that I'm freaking out.

"I was gunna leave it. I was ready to walk away but I didn't want to, god Peter, I didn't want to walk away from you without you knowing. Without having an answer from you." Stiles pauses to take a breath. 

"An answer regarding what, sweetheart?" Peter asks, voice soft as if Stiles is an easily startled animal. 

"Me. You. Fuck. Us." Stiles watches Peter's eyebrows rise and he panics. "I love you. Shit, I didn't mean that. No I did. I did mean it, I just didn't mean to say it like that. Didn't mean to dump it on you. Oh fucking hell." 

"Stiles." Peter says firmly. "Why don't you come in?" 

"I don't wan-" he stops and looks at Peter, _really_ looks at him. Stiles' shoulders slump, "yeah okay," he says. Stiles is eighteen, he can vote, he can join the military, he can have a grown up conversation with Peter Hale about feelings. Stiles slinks inside and practically falls onto Peter's ridiculously large and comfy couch. 

Peter closes the door slowly, with a deliberation that Stiles knows he's using to take the time to think through what he's heard. Peter comes around and sits on the couch near Stiles, aching close but not touching. "I don't understand what you want from me, Stiles." 

"I don't want anything." 

"You must. Or you wouldn't have come here with such a declaration." 

Stiles concedes that Peter has a point. He curls into himself more, hands in fists in the pockets of his hoodie. "I don't want anything you don't want to give." Stiles mumbles. Peter hears him clearly, of course. 

"Oh, darling." Peter's tone is light and he catches Stiles' gaze "how can you think I don't want to give you everything?" 

"What?" Stiles stares at Peter in shock. Peter smiles at him, warm and genuine. He's breathtakingly beautiful.

"I never told you where I was moving to, did I?" Peter strokes a hand, touch barely there, over Stiles' shoulder and arm. "I have an apartment in Manhattan. I'm going to New York as well. Stiles, darling, I'd follow you to the ends of the earth." Stiles gapes at Peter, carefully he takes his hand out of his pocket and catches Peter's fingers in his. Smiling beautifully again Peter slots their fingers together. "Now, do you think I could kiss you, Stiles?" 

Stiles laughs, delightedly. He moves so he's straddling Peter's lap, their hands still joined. Stiles uses his free hand to stroke over Peter's eyebrow, his cheek bone, his jawline. Peter's eyelids flutter closed and his lips quirk upwards in contentment. Stiles presses his lips to Peter's, tasting his smile. It's gentle and soft as their mouths move. Peter has hand on Stiles' hip, his other tightening around Stiles' fingers. 

Keeping his hand on Peter's cheek Stiles swipes his thumb over the soft skin under Peter's eye as they kiss. When they break apart he doesn't move away, simply rests his forehead against Peter's. Peter opens his eyes and Stiles hums low in his throat when they're bright, beta blue. "You're so beautiful," Stiles whispers. Peter's huff of laughter puffs against Stiles' lips. "No, seriously, Peter. You're breathtaking, and beautiful and mine." 

"Yours?" Peter is smirking. He holds Stiles' hips still and rocks upwards, "I believe you're mistake, sweetheart. You are mine." 

"Fuck, yes. Whatever." Stiles presses his hips downwards, grinding their groins together. Peter growls and it sends a thrill through Stiles. Tugging at their joined hands Stiles climbs off Peter's lap, enjoying his hungry gaze at it travels over his body, resting on where his erection is tenting his jeans before flying up to meet Stiles' eyes. "Take me bed, Peter." 

"Are you sure?" Peter is gazing at him wantonly. "I won't let you go if we take the next step, Stiles. I am not a kind man, I'm selfish and demanding and possessive. If we fuck, here and now, you're mine for good." 

"I know." Stiles bares his throat. "I want this, I want _you_. I know your faults, just as you know mine. You may not be kind to strangers Peter but you are to me. You're a good man. I don't know what happened but somewhere along the way someone told you that you're a bad guy and you believed them." Peter's eyes widen and Stiles bends to kiss him. This time its messy and wet, when they pull back Peter's lips are shiny with Stiles' spit. "You're a good man, Peter and most importantly you're good to me. I love you. I _love_ you. So we're going to to your bedroom, we're not going to fuck. We'll-"

"If you say 'make love' I will mock you forever." Peter smirks but his gaze is soft. "Fair warning." 

"I was going to say: have sex." Stiles pulls at Peter's hand until he stands up. As he walks towards the bedroom, Stiles looks coyly over his shoulder, "but if you want to make love, baby, I'll show you how." 

Peter surges forward and puts both arms around Stiles' waist. He nips at the skin on the back of Stiles' neck. "I'm going to hold you to that, darling."

"Yeah? You like the idea of me showing you how to make love, baby?"

"Fuck, I like the idea of loving you, and being loved by you, for the rest of our lives." Peter kisses Stiles deeply. 

"'Til death do us part, baby." Stiles grins and they stumble into the bedroom. Peter kicks the door shut behind him, the loud thud should sound like a closing but for Stiles, and perhaps Peter also, it's the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> [On tumblr](https://cathcer1984.tumblr.com/), and totally serious about prompting me. I'm in the mood to write but I don't have many ideas!
> 
> [Sonnet 18](https://poets.org/poem/shall-i-compare-thee-summers-day-sonnet-18): Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?


End file.
